swedish princess cake

at night i've been watching baking
shows. it reminds me of sitting
with my mom at the breakfast bar
in my parent's house.

we especially liked iron chef
& whatever else came on before
& after. we wrote recipes on
the counter & the arms of the sofa.

That looks good.
Wow look at that. 
We should make those.

the chefs bodies are frantic, 
they're on a time limit. 
they sweat in their white aprons.

tonight they're making 
Swedish Princess Cake & their
bodies know what to do, 
the measurements like another language.

they speak into the bowl
with 2/3 cups & tongues of teaspoon
& table. they know what a Swedish
Princess Cake by instinct & they move
fingers over green marzipan

i haven't used the oven in my
new apartment yet. i keep
telling everyone that i love
baking & then i come home
& crawl into it

i don't know how to make 
a Swedish Princess Cake.

the oven is cold & metal & 
dragon-like. 

i bring a pillow
with me & turn on the television
in the living room &

watch the bakers move
from a cookie sheet inside 

& they come
out, rushing onto
the tile kitchen floor

they bang pots & pans,
they throw open the cabinets
in search of ingredients
for Swedish Princess Cake,

where is the vanilla extract?
the powdered sugar?
the heavy cream?

i hold still & watch
they write my a poem 
in my cups of flour 

& butter sticks,

melting gently from the heat
of all our bodies in the kitchen.

i tell them i haven't baked 
in so long & they pre-heat 
the oven,

put me inside & i come
out just right.

i curl up on the plate & 
they layer me. raspberry jam
& pastry cream, light & airy
& beige.